Between Fındıkzade and Çapa bus stops, which I passed by countless times, I treaded through days more bitter than a paper cut. The scent of quince lingered around, refusing to leave me for days on end. I saw you for the first time when the street sweeper Hakkı, parked next to you with his handcrafted trash cart, threw rubbles into the garbage truck, lingering with the hope of a conversation.
The Art of Loving a Tangerine Peel
The Art of Loving a Tangerine Peel
The Art of Loving a Tangerine Peel
Between Fındıkzade and Çapa bus stops, which I passed by countless times, I treaded through days more bitter than a paper cut. The scent of quince lingered around, refusing to leave me for days on end. I saw you for the first time when the street sweeper Hakkı, parked next to you with his handcrafted trash cart, threw rubbles into the garbage truck, lingering with the hope of a conversation.